


Sweatpants and Togas

by silver0wings



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, minor sexual themes and references, rating typical language, rating typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-16 07:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver0wings/pseuds/silver0wings
Summary: Your classic greco-roman based story, involving gods being dickheads and a patron of Apollo and Hephaestus who really just wanted to touch the sun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone says it, yes I am very aware of a published book series that deals with demigods and greco-roman mythos. I'm aware of any similarities you might see and I would prefer not to hear them, that series leaves a bad taste in my mouth for deeply personal reasons. 
> 
> This all being said, I do enjoy constructive feedback and general comments!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: fire imagery, hand injury, drowning, possible disordered eating themes.

The sun is too bright, too hot, an obsessive orb that drums its rays upon the plainlands, beating down fragile crops and stealing water from streambeds. It lays waste to summer times, creating a landscape that would have even the most athletic brought to their knees with dehydration after only a handful of hours out in the scorch. There’s hardly an escape from the sun in the plainlands, with the open stretches of cliff face topped with grassy fields and temple ruins. Not even an occasional tree for shade. In daylight hours the only hope of relief is staying tucked inside the clay brick houses that have cropped up in the last few dozen years. That, or chancing a trip down the cliffs to the ocean’s bitter cold, but that journey might just cost a life. 

It’s no wonder, with all the grief it gives, that the people of the plainlands hate the sun with a passion, taking great measures to make elaborate hats and cloth drapings to keep their skin shielded. For all its evils, the sun united the people, who would otherwise be distant from each other, it gave them something they all shared; spite.

The people of the plainlands got to share in the wonders of communal hatred of not only the sun, but for the young man who sat upon a rock as many hours as he could, staring at the blinding orb with awe.

“Hey! Skygazer, the sun gonna pay your late fees for you?” A jeering voice came, much the same as it always did in the morning hours. The only response the voice, and lady attached to it get, is a soft sigh. Disappointed the teasing didn’t get much of anywhere, she tries again, “Kye-ross! I’m not covering for you again!”

His fists curl, calloused fingers biting rough skin of his palm, and he speaks as slides from his rock perch, taking a step towards the cliff face, away from the lady, “you’re saying it wrong again. It’s Sigh-ris. Siiiiiigh-ris.”

“Then it shouldn’t be spelled K-Y-R-O-S,” she rebuttals, hiking a heavy-looking basket over a wide hip. “Seriously, I’m gonna get enough flack for just being seen with you, Mr. Loner. Be grateful I’m here.”

It wasn’t his fault his name's spelled that way, and it wasn’t his fault that he really didn’t have many friends. Kyros wasn’t quiet, or antisocial, he just… Felt more at home in other places. “Yeah, okay. Sure,” he plays a smile as he turns, blowing brown locks from his face when the wind kicks up.

He heads towards her, thinking to himself, _Another day of work I’d much rather spend literally anywhere else._

The work wasn’t bad, at least, that’s what the people not doing the work said. Kyros didn’t see much fun in laying stone to restore long since abandoned temples and coliseums when technology had advanced ten times over since their fall.

He makes his way back to the town with the lady who had pried him from his business, who’s name he hadn’t actually recalled, since she couldn’t be bothered to say his right. The place is already busy and the sun hasn’t been up an hour yet, little market shops of various goods, from hats and beautifully dyed fabrics, to sweet fruits and fresh cuts of cattle. The smell of spices hits hard as the two of them pass by a particular booth, and he’s jogged from his thoughts as an apple is shoved into his chest. 

“Here,” the shopkeeper says, “eat, and don’t think about telling who it’s from. We all know you haven’t got parents to tell you to, no one wants to see hollow cheeks.” 

A curt nod, and Kyros makes a show of taking a bite of the apple. The shopkeeper gives a look that makes it clear that there wasn’t kindness in the act, it was something he always had trouble placing. Maybe pity? “Thanks, mom,” he tucks the bite of apple into his cheek to talk, grinning as him and his lady not-friend pick up the pace when the shopkeeper yells as if insulted. 

The number of clay houses and market shops dwindles as they near a rough path leading down to a stone quarry, the clank of tools on rock already audible. 

“Y’know, that shopkeeper could actually be my mother.” He’s still on the same bite of apple, just moving the chewed mush from one side of his mouth to the other. “The children's house I was raised in always said my parents were still in the town.” 

“That’s disgustin-” 

“I know! They didn’t even have the decency to send me to another town. I’m over it, though, it’s been twenty years since they left me at that house.” He looks like he would babble more without any prying needed, but his lady not-friend cuts off his chance. 

“I meant the apple,” she says curtly. “You don’t ever actually eat things, just play with them. It’s disgusting. And that interrupting thing you do is pretty gross, too.” 

With that, Kyros tries to swallow the bite he’s been nursing the last several minutes, but the thought makes his throat feel like it walked through a burr bush. Nope, not happening. He spits it to the side and tosses the rest of the apple. “Sorry.” 

She gags. “You’re so ungrateful.” Their conversation, if it was even that in the first place, ends with her picking up her pace down to the quarry, retrieving waterskins from her basket and passing them to the people already working, going about her day as if Kyros had never existed. 

He walks the rest of the way alone, swallowing a few times to make the throat prickling go away. As he scoops up a pickaxe, he sets off into an unspoken for spot, he watches as the nearest person quickly finds reason to move off. Not that he minded, or so he told himself. Less of a distraction, and that’s for the best, because he was really bad with distractions. 

You would think that chipping away at rock until he found a nice size chunk of marble would be pretty hard to get distracted with, but Kyros had a fire he hadn’t found a way to put out yet. 

Maybe distracted wasn’t the right word, but he always could feel the fire in his gut, how it spread up his chest and bloomed outward down his arms. When he was talking, or engaged in something, his fire was easy enough to ignore, but it never settled. Working with something that left his mind idle, such as stone work, was always the worst. 

Today, the fire wasn’t pulling any punches. The prickles in his throat returned, and went from a subtle nagging to acid dripping down the back of his tongue, rolling drops to his stomach where it boiled and twisted, cramped and tore. As he raised the pickaxe for a swing, he could feel the fire skip right through flesh to burn bone, hot enough he was certain the marrow was cooked to charcoal. The way with every inhale he could feel each stroke of flames within his lungs, squeezing his heart and leaving his blood ash, was near unbearable. 

Behind the pain that he did his best to shut out, and hadn’t cried from in years, there was emotion. Passion and heartache, twisted together and sitting like a lump in the back of his throat, big enough he could choke on it whenever he tried to talk to someone about it, but small enough when the town physician looked nothing was found. Sometimes he felt a rope tied around his ribs, pulling him away from whatever he was doing and towards some unknown. 

“Not now.” Kyros pants and settles his tool down, back leaned to the stone. He felt ridiculous. Even if he wasn’t the tallest, he had muscle in his arms from working the mines and his own hobbies, he had enough strength that he didn’t feel strain often. But this stupid flame, it could take him out in a heartbeat. 

He looks down at his fingertips, feeling the fire run just beneath his skin, but seeing nothing but the roughness of labor in his hands. A snicker makes him lift his head, catching sight of a pair watching him. “What’s wrong? You on fire again?” They laugh. 

If the pain and the pull wasn’t enough, the fact that there was nothing wrong, that no one believed him, made it hell. 

Not wanting to deal with the taunt, or the very real possibility that he’d get another mark on his work record for doing nothing while on the clock, he sets back to work at a slower pace, hoping to keep up the appearance of work a while longer. In the eyes of the law, he had no reason to be absent from work, as the town’s medicine people had found nothing wrong, which meant Kyros’ fire was nothing but a slacker’s lie. The restoration of the ruins of old was more important than some whining. 

By the end of a few hours, the sun’s at it’s full height, and many people around him have started to whine, or make jokes, “Kyros, your friend’s here!” and “You gonna talk to the sun again?” are just a few of the many he hears. The fire hasn’t died down at all, either. But there’s good news, as far as work goes at least; he’s got a very roughly cut block of marble freed from the surrounding stone, and loaded it up in a cart, pushing it back up the path he’d walked down that morning. 

“Leaving so soon?” It’s his lady not-friend again, casting a side eye towards him as she brings a refilled basket of waterskins back down. 

Kyros gestures towards the slab of marble he’s carting along. “These don’t really take themselves up.” 

“Sure, you’re taking it up now. But I know how you work, you take one up and run off as soon as you can. You’re an awful worker.” She’s right, and knows she is, but Kyros doesn’t feel like fighting her on it. He just pushes the handles of his cart again, passing by her without another word. 

He unloads the stone with the rest at the top of the quarry, to await someone with more smarts coming to inspect them and sort what goes to which construction project. There’s a war going on inside his head as he rolls the kinks from his shoulders and glances around, realizing there’s no one else up here. 

On one hand, he could take the cart back down the path, go back to work, and avoid any trouble. His lady not-friend wouldn’t get the satisfaction of being right, and his reputation among people might improve, someone might talk to him. 

But on the other… 

Yeah, there’s really no choice between the two. He leaves without saying so, avoiding the town as he heads back to his cliff face. It was the highest point around for miles, and an honestly breathtaking view of the ocean, but that was never the part that interested him. 

He takes a seat, smiling at how the rock had warmed over the hours. It’s much nicer than when he sits out in the morning waiting for the sunrise, the stone always chilled by the night’s air. Without thinking anything of it, he shrugs off his tunic and folds it beside him. No one came up this way, and it was covered in dirt from working. There was something comfortable about just existing beneath the sun, something that felt more like home than any place he’d ever stayed. 

There’s not a cloud in sight, and there’s nothing outwardly remarkable about the the skyline. But this, this cliff face, it’s the place that rope tied to his ribs always pulls him to. It actually keeps pulling, over the edge of the cliff and towards the sun itself, but he’s never had the means to get closer. 

Not that he hasn’t tried. A year back, he’d scaled down the cliff and swam out as far as he could, and it hadn’t lessened. Kyros knew it was the sun, and not some far off land across the sea, that kept trying to drag him in. 

Despite what people think, he isn’t actually just up on his rock staring at the sun. As nice as it is, it does hurt his eyes after a while, and just staring at one thing gets pretty boring. Kyros reaches down and grabs a sharpened piece of charcoal fastened to a stick, and traces along the smooth surface of his rock. The things he draws are never simple, they’re steam engines and other fantastic contraptions, still brand new and untrusted. Several are of his own design, such as an oven that self dispenses wood instead of requiring it to be manually inserted. 

For all his genius design, he didn’t actually build a whole lot of anything. If he did, someone would try and buy the design from him, and he felt for all the annoyance the people of the plainlands caused him, they didn’t deserve innovation. 

He looks up after what’s only been a few minutes, and realizes it must have been hours, since it’s evening. The sun throws oranges and pinks across the sky, and he can’t help but wonder how anyone hates the sun. 

“Boy, someone’s going to tan your hide for this stunt one of these days.” 

Kyros scrambles and throws his tunis back over his shoulders, fighting when it gets stuck. “Some warning would be nice!” He does manage to get it on, turning to see who it was that intruded. 

Standing there, with an entirely unamused look, was the shopkeeper who fed him this morning. She had something tucked beneath her arm, trying to keep it out of sight. “If you weren’t a fan of being nude in public, you wouldn’t need warning.” Now that he’s decent she gets closer, and he can see the thing she’s holding is a bread bowl of stew, and that she intends to give it to him. “I heard what you did with my apple, little bastard.” 

With as often as she gave him food, he really did wonder if she was his mother. She was the right age, but her face was prettier, more round and delicate than his, and Kyros was pretty sure she had kids of her own. Maybe she was just a mother, and he was just a son, and those two sorts of people just end up in this kind of relationship, regardless of shared blood. 

“It tasted like dirt,” he responds flatly, wiping his most recent and only half finished drawing away. He still takes the stew, feeling the prickle in his throat before he even gets a bite to his mouth. He winces at the taste, and forces a swallow. “This also, tastes like dirt.” 

“I should cuff you for that,” she sounds like she really wants to. He can’t blame her, but it really does taste like dirt. “That’s one of the finest cuts the butcher had, and here you are turning your nose up at it.” 

“Food just-” Kyros stops, giving up before he really starts. Just another thing people didn’t understand. Food, no matter the kind, the quality, tasted wrong. There wasn’t use in explaining, people just called him spoiled, so he just shuts up and stomachs a few more half bites. 

The shopkeeper leans herself against the rock beside Kyros, watching carefully as if he could explode at any moment. Her anger dies pretty quick, and she sighs, “I might regret saying this, but... sometimes I can’t help but think things would be better if you just weren’t here.” 

The stew’s cold by the time he responds, and the sun’s gone nearly all the way down. “I think you’re right.” Kyros doesn’t say anything else, and doesn’t think anything else really needs said. He sets the stew down and heads off towards his house, not looking back towards the shopkeeper. 

Throughout the night, Kyros can’t shake the shopkeeper’s words. He never felt like he had truly belonged, never felt at home or content with life the same way other people did, but hearing it from someone else really cemented it for him. 

He rolls out of bed before he has a chance to sleep, and heads for the little smith’s forge he set himself up. There’s another charcoal pencil, and an empty stretch of wall he hasn’t drawn on yet, enough space for him to set to work planning. 

Things would be better if he wasn’t here. So he’s going to not be here.

Morning comes, and he makes his way to the quarry without needing prodding. It’s the first time in a long while that he’s not late, but his work ethic hasn’t improved. Kyros ends up with his head against the stone, still standing, but very much trying to doze off, only to be interrupted.

“Drink this.” He knows it’s his lady not-friend without opening his eyes, can recognize her voice even though it’s taken on a softer tone than usual. she nudges the waterskin between his head and the stone, and when he slowly blinks his eyes open, he can see the pitying look. 

Without question, Kyros takes it. Water was one of the few things that never tasted like di-

“That’s. Not water,” he sputters and chokes, spitting out most of what tasted like a bitter wine. Or, as close to a bitter wine as he’d ever had, so really wine mixed with dirt. Arguably worse than regular bitter wine. 

She huffs, snatching her skin back. “You’re wasting it! Serves me right for trying to help. Here I thought some hair of the dog would do you good.” 

“I’m not hungover!” His arms cross, but she’s already walking on her way, apparently wasting wine was too big an offense to deal with him any longer. 

Whether she believed it or not, he really wasn’t, though he did agree his functionality was greatly reduced. A night without sleep spent working on his project tended to do that. 

Once he got in the swing of it, it was impossible to fight. It made the fire in his chest swell and burst, but in a less painful, more exciting way than usual. Working on his project felt right, felt important. Comparatively, everything else’s importance was starting to dwindle, from slacking off more than usual at work to no longer bothering to try and talk to people, feeling no desire to get shunned when he had better things to do. 

As every day passes, he spends less and less time in the quarry, and more shut up in his house. The absent notices pile up at his door, along with baskets of food left by the shopkeeper, neither of which he touches. 

His project consumes his days, not even leaving a moment to sit under the sun. It consumes his nights so much that the only sleep he gets was bent over his workbench, one slip away from crashing his face into intricate wood carvings bond together with leather straps. 

The smell of fresh cut leather, the shavings of wood scatter the floor, the tiny cuts from knife slips that dug into his fingers, the softness of feathers carefully sewn into place, all the little pieces of his project were fuel on the fire. Kyros thought it wasn’t possible the flames could grow past that point without eating him alive, but today they did. 

Today was the day he lights the forge and works the physical flames hot enough to melt metal, -metal that he’s scrapped from broaches and trinkets, from pots and pans, from anything he can get his hands on- and he almost crumbles at the feeling. It’s everywhere, burning to the point of no return and spurring him on in the same stroke. 

In that moment, he swears he hears a soft-spoken voice echo in the back of his head. He can hardly hear it over the roar of flame in his ear, but it’s there. _“Good.”_ Kyros hasn’t heard anyone say anything in a tone like that in a long time, hasn’t heard anyone sound so profoundly proud in… He can’t remember ever hearing pride other than his own, actually. 

“Who’s-?” He stands from where his knees buckled, looking around. There’s no one there, and he doesn’t think there ever was. He doesn’t know who or what that voice was, but he’s more certain than ever as he slips on a set of heat proof gloves and takes hold of a piece of metal, that this project of his, is the right thing. 

 

“Kyyyyye-ross!” It comes with a knock on the door, jarring him from a piece of hot metal that can’t be set down, nearly making him drop it. It takes him longer than usual to place the voice, but with how she said his name, he’s certain it’s his lady not-friend. “You’ve missed nearly two weeks! Everyone thinks you died!”

“Not now!” Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but he definitely snapped more than usual there. Whatever, she deserves it. He sets back to his metal, hammering a bump flat. 

“Excuse me? I came all the way up here, and that’s all you’ve got?” He can hear her fumbling with his door, but he doesn't look. Whatever she’s doing doesn’t matter, his work is more important. This project is more important. Something as simple as hammering out a bump is more important than her existence-

Something touches his shoulder. The hand holding the metal slips. The voice, the one he heard in his mind, speaks “boy, don’t-” He swings the hammer-

“FUCK!” 

Everything is dropped, and Kyros clutches his hand to his chest. Tears well up and fall with several more curses. His lady definitely-not-friend looks shocked, and he remembers he took the lock off the door to melt it down, leaving her an easy entry. 

“Get. Out.” 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think that you-” 

“LEAVE!” 

She does, and he slumps against the floor, too afraid to look at the damage done to his finger, but knowing from the feeling, from the amount of blood, it isn’t good. It’s really not good. Crying is about the only thing he can think to do. 

_“Boy, stand up and fix your hand.”_

Kyros looks up to the empty room, the forge still blazing, and door still ajar. There’s no place a voice should be coming from. “Who,” he swallows at the ragged crack his voice gives, licking his lips and trying again, “who are you?”

He waits for a few minutes, but there’s no answer. The voice didn’t seem to be a big talker. Maybe if he does what it wants, it’ll speak more? He slowly pulls off the glove that had done nothing to shield the hammer blow, feeling dizzy soon as he sees it. 

Most of his left middle finger remained inside the glove, the hammer having gone clean through. What was left was mangled, not a clean separation at all, and bleeding heavily. Not good. Really, not good. 

He fumbles the glove back to it, trying to put pressure, and the voice huffs at him. _“You have fire. Cauterize it.”_

“There’s no way, I’ll just clean it-” The voice doesn’t answer, but he knows that it’s right. There wasn’t much hope for that finger, and there wouldn’t be any hope for him if he just let it bleed. 

With a deep breath he grabs the metal stick, red hot from having sat in the fire with the intent of shaping it later in the day. He moves it closer to his finger, knuckles white from how hard he grips it. His hands shake, and he feels the heat before it touches. 

It burns. It burns more than his fire ever has. 

Three days of progress lost because of that slip. 

He spends the first day and a half talking to himself, or rather, trying to talk to the voice. There’s never an answer, or a reason he can find for it speaking to him in the first place. The fact that it had tried to warn him, and then told him not to let himself bleed out, it's comforting to some extent, and in the end he decides to believe that voice is just his inner mind telling him to get himself together. 

Or maybe it was just lack of sleep getting to him. 

The rest of the time he spends figuring out how to work with his hand in the state it was in. Losing most of a finger, and one of the ones he tends to use a lot, was a setback. At the end of his three day break he does have it mostly figured out, but he’s still beyond mad at his lady not-friend. 

She doesn’t come back again, and even if she did, Kyros propped a chair in front of the door, not risking another interruption. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by her. Distracted by anyone. Anything. 

Tracking the days becomes a thing of the past, one bleeding into the next with only the melting of candles a real indicator of how much time passes. Sometimes, it feels like his project might not see an end, but a day comes when it does. 

Kyros carries his project in a wrapped blanket, heading for his rock. Seeing it feels like an old friend who’s just come back from war. Feeling the sun, bright and warm, not cast through a small window, and knowing in a matter of minutes he’ll be closer than he’s ever been before, he can’t really describe it. There’s no words for what finally being able to go home feels like. 

The set up, the double checking, the final touches as he fastens leather straps so tight to his arm they ache, feeling the strain and having it not even compare to heartache of being so far away, it takes up all his senses much the same way lighting the forge for the first time did. 

He keeps thinking he’ll hear the voice in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t. 

 

He steps up onto his rock and adjusts the weight that rests against his back. The soles of his feet soaking in the warmth as he stares over the ocean and then up towards to the sky. It’s a moment of peace, interrupted by someone behind him speaking in an authoritative tone. 

“What you are about to do is an act of treason. You are already on thin ice for missing work. Another strike and you will be-” More is said, but he isn’t listening. 

A grin, the first properly smug and shiteating one he’s had in ages, speads as he turns his head over his shoulder, looking at the band of soldiers. They were the ones responsible for issuing all those notices on his door, all armed to the tooth and at the ready, ready to take him captive in a moment’s notice. They mean business, and clearly didn’t like the look of his smile. 

They didn’t like his tone, cheeky and happier than he had any right to be, almost unable to get it out for how much he was laughing. They really didn’t like what Kyros has to say at all. 

“Fuck you.” 

Not even giving them a second to react, he takes a step off the cliff face. The ocean spray hitting his face and smell of salt filling his lungs. He tugs a cord, and his project, his wings, spread. They catch an updraft, and carry him far from the yells of soldiers scrambling to do something about his escape. 

Wind howls and he can’t stop laughing, almost delirious with the feeling. The warmth as he sails higher into the sky is unbelievable, is so perfect against his skin. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t think of going home sooner. 

His fire’s hotter than ever, too. Kyros thought that maybe, just maybe, this would smother the fire. If anything it felt more real now, like it was eating up his wings. As if the fire inside him had escaped and blossomed into reality. 

In a painful moment, he realizes that there is fire outside of him, and it _is_ eating up his wings. 

It didn’t come from him, wasn’t related to his fire at all. He chances a look behind him, and sure enough, another flaming arrow from the soldiers buzzes past him in a narrow miss. One of the bastards had tagged his right wing, and it was spreading fast. 

“No, no no! Stop, this can’t-” He pulls cords and changes directions, trying to pat out the fire. Another arrow hit, and he spirals down, only able to see the ocean below. 

Cold. 

It’s bitterly cold. The flames, both the ones that grounded his flight, and the one inside that had grounded him for so long, are extinguished by the ocean. 

He can’t move, can’t think. It’s too cold to do anything, the first time he’s ever really felt so chilled to the bone. First time he misses the fire in his gut. All he can do is watch the bubbles rise to the surface as he exhales. 

Those bubbles are the last thing he sees as the salt water becomes too much for his eyes. The last thing he remembers before he passes out, is asking a single word question, 

“Why?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: referenced drinking or substance use, death reference.

Kyros didn’t know what he was expecting to happen when he died. He hadn’t really been thinking too much about dying, not expecting to really learn what happens for a while. But then he got shot from the sky and dipped into an oceanic ice bath. 

He _has_ to be dead. People just don’t live from that kind of thing. The fire that had always been apart of him is gone, his eyes are glued shut with no strength to pry them open, his body is numb from the cold. All those were things dead people felt, he guessed. All he could really do was guess, but even that felt like far too much effort, his brain just as worn out as his body. It was easier just to try and take everything in, and not try to process what any of it meant. 

For as cold as it is, Kyros can feel a bit of warmth. It isn’t his fire, and isn’t part of him. The warmth comes from whatever his cheek is pressed to, some soft cotton with a body underneath. Was this person dead too? Or maybe they were the one fairying him off to wherever it is dead that people go. He groans, remembering thinking really hurts, and he’s done doing it. 

The body he’s pressed against jerks when he groans, and he just groans again at such a sudden movement. There’s more shifting, and he feels the cotton the other person was wearing being placed around his own body, quickly growing just as soaked as what Kyros was wearing. 

Wherever it is that he is sways everytime the wind blows, followed by a cable creaking. It comes to a sudden stop, and he feels the warmth tighten around him, and he’s moving again, but different. He can hear footsteps against what was probably stone, but still can’t open his eyes to see what’s going on. 

“Gale!” With as close as that voice is, it has to be attached to whoever is carrying him. Whoever it is quickly gets more desperate to get this Gale’s attention, picking up the pace. “Gale! Gaaaaaalie. Gale. You can pretend I don’ exist another time, I’ve got two arms full’a problem.” 

There’s a heavy sigh, and another voice starting to say something, but stops suddenly and takes a long pause, apparently not having expected what they see. This second voice, Gale, is a lot gruffer and lower than the first, and very much exasperated, “Is that _another_ Icarus? Seriously?” 

 

Now, Kyros had sworn off thinking at least twice now, but for some reason he kept on trying. Icarus? Another Icarus? He’s got no clue what that could mean, but does know Icarus is a name of… Someone. Before he can figure out who, the first voice speaks up again. 

“Yeah, I know, I know. But he was drownin’ so I…” That first voice is more relaxed now that Gale’s attention has been captured, terribly casual.

“So you went down, without permission.” Even without his eyes open, Kyros can feel Gale’s glare. 

“I had permission! My permission. ‘Nways, he’s leanin’ ‘Pollo and Heph’, clearly doesn’t got an ounce of Poe’. I figured some stuff out, so I can’t be in trouble, yeah? I jus’... Don’t know what to do now that I’ve got him up here.” Working through what this guy is saying is a mental exercise he doesn’t need right now, or ever, for that matter. Kyros has to fill in the letters that get forgotten, which isn’t the easiest in his current state. 

He figures some of it out, even if it doesn’t make any sense. ‘Pollo had to be Apollo. That was one of the gods of old, he knows that much, but why is this guy shortening the names of gods? 

Gale’s speaking again, and Kyros tries to catch the words. His brain gives out, trying to figure out what gods of old had to do with any of this, and trying to hear Gale, was just too much. 

The next thing Kyros knows, he’s shaking like a leaf under a blanket. He can’t remember falling asleep, but it makes sense that he did. He had been exhausted, and was only a little better off now. 

A look around, and he realizes two things; One, he can open his eyes and move again. And two, he doesn’t think he’s dead. 

Or if he is, this is one hell of an afterlife. 

The walls and floor of the room are smooth stone, but they’re not cold at all like stone usually is, they radiate heat. The warmth of it is painfully familiar, feeling just like his fire did, but much more powerful. Instead of feeling like it’s eating him up, the fire of this place feels comforting, feels like it belongs here. The place is only the size of a small bedroom, and has no windows or furnishings besides the bed he’s on and a small nightstand, and a… What is that? It’s… Some sort of pottery creation, sort of like a chair. There’s a door leading out, and just beyond it he can hear hushed voices. 

Another look, and he catches a set of clothing laid on the nightstand. Kyros is quick to get up and push the door shut, seeing only a glimpse of two people outside. His soaked clothing and wings were still weighing him down and chilling him to the bone, and he’s quick to discard both. 

Idly, he wonders why someone hadn’t taken his wings at the very least. Maybe they thought those things were special, and to an extent they were, but now they were ruined. To him, they weren’t any more special than a sweet cake dropped in the mud - it was cool while it lasted, but he really didn’t want it anymore. 

Not sure what else to do with the mess, he leaves the wings and wet clothing kicked into a corner. It’s the same technique he’s used to clean his house for years. The clothing that’s laid out for him is soft cotton like he’d felt before, a set of drawstring pants, a sleeveless undershirt, and a large cloth he drapes around his torso. There’s nothing fancy about either, but it’s much nicer than being in wet clothing. 

With the most pressing problem solved, Kyros starts to take the situation in more fully. He has no idea where he is. No idea how he’s alive, other than it looks like someone saved him from drowning. No idea what the people outside wanted from him, other than they might be connected to the gods of old, so maybe cultists? 

It was time to get some real answers.

He opens the door back up, trying to look like he means business. The two people outside, however, made that pretty difficult. Neither of them look very serious. 

One of them sounds just like the guy who had carried him in, with the casual tone and missing letters. His back’s against a wall, shoulders slumped forward, his draped cloth nearly falling off. The other thing Kyros notices, is that this guy is pretty tall, but more beanpole-y than buff. It’s a shock Mr. Laidback was able to carry him. 

The other is much shorter. They have remarkably light eyes, contrasting sharply against their dark skin and hair. When they see Kyros, they elbow Mr. Laidback to get him to stop going off about some nonsense about ducks. 

“Where the hell am I?” Mission accomplished, that sounds suitably answer-demanding. Nevermind the fact he’s still shivering. He’s tough, dammit. 

“The sun.” Mr. Laidback answers without thinking, a crooked smile on his face. He’s elbowed again. “Ow! I’m sore enough, thanks.” 

Not satisfied with that answer, or how nothing seems to make this guy knock off the act, Kyros tries again, “how… Am I on the sun?” 

Mr. Laidback looks towards his light-eyed friend for help, who only offers a pointed look. “You brought him here, you get to explain.” 

“If I godda explain, why’re you here?” 

“One, you asked me to keep you company. Two, I’m here to explain when you fail.” 

“Awesome confidence, Avi.” 

The two look like they would keep going for a while, but Kyros clears his throat. “Answers? Please?” 

Mr. Laidback fumbles his hands out of his pockets with some difficulty, gesturing in unhelpful ways as he gives it his best shot. “You’re here ‘cause, um. I thought you’d like bein’ on the sun more than drownin’? You were tryin’ to get here, ‘nways, right? Uhhh. You felt the-” He gestures a few times, and Kyros just cocks an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I quit.” He throws his hands up and pushes back against the wall. 

The light-eyed person, Avi, mock claps and steps in. “What he means, is that this place _is_ the sun. But it’s not _just_ the sun. The sun’s a secret base,” they pause, making sure Kyros is getting it, clearly used to dealing with Mr. Laidback, who was still sulking. 

“You’re here because you can tap into the power of the gods. You’re not their child or anything, but you’ve got a connection, same as us. All of us here on the sun, we can tap into the god’s power, and that energy we give off keeps this place bright, keeps the sun powered.” 

Kyros looks from Avi, back to Mr. Laidback, who was acting like all of this was a speech he’s heard before, just a part of daily life. He takes a minute and a deep breath. “I’ll go out on a limb here and say I was brought here because of that power, right? All my life-” 

“That’s what I was sayin’! You felt the-” He makes the same gestures he had made just before giving up explaining. “Y’know?” 

“The draw,” Avi supplies. “Yes, that’s what brought you here, even if Felix helped when you apparently,” they clear their throat, and take on a pretty spot on impression, “totally got blasted n’ crashed way hard.” 

Mr. Laidback, apparently Felix, nods and adjusts his cloth. “Feels kinda like you’re bein’ dragged away from home kickin’ n’ screamin’, but you don’t even know where home is.” 

Avi and Kyros share a look, until Kyros breaks it, speaking as if the third couldn’t hear him, “he uh… Isn’t real helpful, is he? 

“No, not real-” 

“It isn’t my fault!” Felix interrupts, pushing off the wall with a little waver in balance, “you lean ‘Thena, and I’m Di- Dio- Diana? Dino-” 

“You can’t even say your main patron!” 

“Exactly what I’m talkin’ about. I lean stupid, you lean smarts-” 

Kyros clears his throat again, starting to get a little tired of the other two forgetting he’s there in favor of bickering. “What does any of that mean? Leanings? Patrons? 

Felix doesn’t even try this time, Avi taking right over. “You know how I said we can tap into the gods power? We all lean towards a certain god, or sometimes a few gods, those are our patrons. As he said, I lean towards Athena, she’s my patron.” 

“And I’m Dickionu-” 

“Dionysus,” Avi sighs pushing him back against the wall. “Sorry, he’s off his ass right now. Comes with the territory, or so he claims.” 

All of this was a lot to process for Kyros. He wasn’t weird, apparently, for wanting to go to the sun. He was just meant to be there, with people who were equally non-weird as him, who were also meant to be there. All because they could call upon godly powers. His lip catches between his teeth as he tries to figure it all out, and just ends up with another question. “Someone called me Icarus.” 

 

“That’d be the bestest person you’re ever gonna meet, Gale-de-ion the Great.” With the wall’s support, Felix is pretty steady, and for apparently being off his ass he’s more coherent than Kyros has seen from other people. Seems like it’s a regular thing for him. 

“I’m the best, don’t listen to him, he’s got parent issues and Gale is the closest any of us have.” Avi was quickly becoming Kyros’ favorite of the two, at least they were trying to help. Not that it seemed Felix meant harm, he just… Wasn’t helpful. “You’re _an_ Icarus, but not the Icarus from the old story. All of us… We come here in very similar ways, just like the heroes in the old stories. History repeats and all that. Icarus’ try and fly in, or escape something. Felix is an Odysseus, he slept with his-” 

“I DID NOT!” Felix reaches out, shoving Avi, who lets him do it but doesn’t stumble. “I jus’. Got on a boat.” Avi makes a face towards Kyros. It’s clear that truth or not, Avi enjoys teasing. 

“Okay, okay. Last question,” Kyros rubs at his eyes, looking at the two who were playfully pushing back and forth. It’s a little annoying that neither seems to be taking the situation seriously, that it’s so normal for them, when for him, it feels like his little world fell apart. “How’d you tell leanings?” 

“Lookit this way,” Felix rests his arms on Avi’s head as he makes an attempt, and for once a damn good one, at explaining. “You nearly drown. You can’t lean Po’ with nearly drownin’. Then you build those wings, that’s Heph’, and… You’re ‘Pollo. Jus’ trust me there. You jus’ kinda know with leanin’s.” 

After filling in that he meant Poseidon, Hephaestus, and Apollo, Kyros did admit that it made some sense. He rubs over his face, really starting to feel it all pile up. It was a lot. Not being dead and being here, literally on the sun, being the power source of the _sun._ The more he thinks about it, the more it feels like an unforgiving weight on his chest, pressing down until he can’t brea-

“Hey,” that’s the softest he’s heard Felix say anything. It’s also the closest he’s been since the carrying incident, and Kyros can’t remember him stepping close. “Stop gettin’ lost in your head, alright? This place is big, this place is new, but me and Avi. We got you, ‘kay?” 

Wet streaks run down Kyros’ cheeks, and he nods. It was overwhelming. It wouldn’t stop being overwhelming for a long time. But he wasn’t alone anymore. He had Avi, a teasing know-it-all, and Felix, who saved his life for who knows what reason, maybe just because he could, and was doing his best to be comforting despite being hammered. 

The two of them were a hell of a lot more than he’s ever had. 

“Now c’mon,” Felix pats his shoulder and goes to lean on Avi. “No more big questions, right? Jus’ li’l stuff. Fun stuff. Let’s go do some _fun stuff.”_

Kyros had no idea what that entailed, but for one reason or another, he follows the two down the hallway, feeling much safer, more at ease in their company.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Referenced drinking/substance us, minor injury, disordered eating themes.

For being smashed, Felix is _fast._

Once he gets an idea where he’s going, and stops leaning on Avi every other step, Kyros actually has a bit of difficulty keeping up. This isn’t to say he’s walking in a straight line, or anything even resembling one, but he’s got long legs and an overly happy confidence in his walk. It’s a way of moving very much in line with his casual speech patterns; flowing yet graceless, going around the point instead of straight to it. 

Avi, in contrast, ends up falling into stride with Kyros a few paces behind, much more stout than even himself, and walking with more delicate strides. They’re more than content to snicker about Felix making four right turns in a row. 

Going in circles isn’t the worst thing in the world, even if it is a little dizzying. It’s giving Kyros a better look of this sun-base. The place is certainly big enough to be the sun, the ceilings stretching up for what seems like forever, and an endless maze of silver-stone passageways with various doors and archways branching off in every which way. Most of it is rather plain and undecorated, but every once and a while there’s something engraved in a wall. Sometimes, it’s nothing more than graffiti, but others it’s intricate pictures of anything from great battles.

Glancing down one of the archways, he sees a room full of art supplies. Another is set up like a lounge room with couches and this… Well, Kyros isn’t really sure what it is. Some sort of big black box mounted to a wall. He would ask, but Felix’s pace doesn’t leave him a chance to. 

The one thing that’s missing, is people. Aside from the three of them, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. There’s signs that people have been here recently, things misplaced and clearly used, lived in, but that’s it. 

He’s about to ask, when Felix comes to a sudden stop. “I don’ uh, remember where it is.” 

A groan leaves Avi, “where were you taking us, anyways?” 

“I don’ remember that either,” he scratches his neck and turns around, sheepish smile playing his lips. “Not sure I had a plan, was just rollin’ with it. Feel like maybe we start with the simple stuff, yeah? So not the room with the-” he mimes something, one hand flat and the other poking at it. “There’s other fun stuff, right?” 

“Look, I can just go back to that room, if you guys can show me that way-” 

“Nooooo.” Surprisingly, it’s Avi who whines and takes his hand. “It sucks being alone the first night, trust me. I’ve got an idea, but if anyone asks, it was tall blonde and not sober who came up with it.” 

With that, Kyros can’t really find a reason to argue. Felix seems happy to play scapegoat if the thumbs up and excessive nodding mean anything, and Avi surely has enough sense not to lead the three of them into trouble. They seem smart, and maybe it’s his poor judgement and how exhausted he still is, but Kyros feels pretty good about trusting them. So he lets Avi keep his hand, because they don’t let go after what seems like the time a normal person would let go, and just gets lead along. 

In a handful of minutes, and a lot less confusing of a route than Felix was taking, the trio arrive in a large round room. Around the outside is a buffet style series of foods, most of which have metal covers resting over them. The inside of the room is covered in tables, though there’s no rhyme or reason to the manner they’re arranged. Some tables still have things left on them, the occasional dirty plate or other small possession left behind. Just like the other rooms, people had been here recently, but now there’s not a soul in sight. 

With a little sigh, Kyros follows the other two around the loop and puts a few things on a plate for himself. This wasn’t really his idea of fun, but Felix keeps on pointing out things that taste good, and Avi sneaks things onto his plate. There’s no really an escape to eating, so he just resigns himself that he’ll stomach it and not complain. These two were trying to be nice, it wasn’t there fault this was going to taste like dirt. 

Felix slides onto one side of the table without an ounce of grace, it’s amazing he keeps from spilling his plate. Avi neatly tucks themself to Felix’s side, and proves the smarter of the two again, having actually remembered to get silverware for both of them. Kyros sits across, elbows on the table. 

Watching these two is really, really interesting. The more he watches, the more questions he has. Not important ones, just little things that could be asked to anyone. When he stops worrying about making a show of eating, and starts just talking, popping the occasional bite in his mouth, the three fall into easy conversation, just going back and forth with little things. 

“You guys are… Real comfortable together, known each other a while?” Watching Felix count on his fingers and somehow find a reason to carry a six and multiply by twenty-nine was hilarious, Kyros nearly chokes on a bite of bread roll. Neither of them seems to be super sure on just how long they have been friends, so they settle on ‘close to forever.’ 

Felix laughs and nearly knocks Avi’s cup over when Kyros starts explaining just why he flew at the sun, apart from the whole draw thing. “So, ‘Pollo, you seriously built wings to get outta work? Thought I was bad.” Kyros lifts his plate to keep it out of harm’s way when the cup actually does get knocked, and goes straight to babbling about just what building those was like, finding more than one chance to show off his missing chunk of finger. Both of them find it way cooler than they should. 

“You’re encouraging each other,” Avi groans, hardly seeming serious, and takes the last piece of candy off Kyros’ plate before he can, “I can feeeeel myself getting dumber from being with you two.” 

 

It’s at this point, when he has to swallow a bite to complain about the candy being stolen, and he doesn't feel a prickle, doesn’t taste dirt, that realization smacks Kyros upside the head. “I’m eating,” he stares down at a near empty plate, and looks back up to the other two, hoping for an answer.

“...That’s what you do with food. I was kidding about me getting dumber, but maybe I actually need to worry about-” 

Felix nudges them, and gets that gentle look in his eyes. “Some’ve us have issues with people foods. Ambrosia goes down better, it’s god food,” he explains, speaking as if he’s also familiar with the tastes-like-dirt issue. 

Kyros is still processing that he’s not the only one with that particular issue, when Felix slams his hands on the table, standing up with the same motion. He’s beyond giddy, struggling to get a foot unstuck from his chair as he speaks, “you wanna see the power room.” 

“Uh, not really.” He’s still startled by the little outburst, but watching the stumbling is amusing. “You guys have shown me a lot and I’m kind of-” 

“That’s not a question, he wants to show off,” Avi gets Felix unstuck and gestures for Kyros to follow. 

“Do not,” Felix flawlessly argues. 

“Do too, and you’re gonna fall on your ass again.” Avi turns to make sure Kyros is actually following, and he is. “Sorry you’re seeing this side of us, but he apparently really wants you to see him get beat.”

“You’re… Actually going to fight each other?” Kyros really isn't sure what to make of that. Sure, he’s seen a gladiator match or two, but that’s different, right? Planned, with trained fighters, organized and to entertain a crowd. Sounds like these two are going to just go at each other.

He still ducklings right along behind them, despite not being so set on this idea, watching as the teasing turns to a bit sharper of a note, but keeping more distance now. 

“You’re dead set on me wiping the floor with you, huh?” Avi elbows towards Felix again, and remarkably, he shifts just so to dodge most of the blow. 

“Only way you’re gonna win is if you cheat,” Felix retorts, stepping through an archway into what must be the power room.

The power room is pretty big. Apparently whoever designed the sun was a fan of round rooms, because it’s just as round as the food-room, but this time there’s a big red circle in the middle with only a few feet of room on either side before it becomes stadium seating. It’s similar to a coliseum, but not quite. 

 

“Aw, c’mon. We all know cheating is _your_ thing.” 

Without thinking, he keeps following while looking around in awe at just how big this place is, about just how many hundreds of people could fit. A hand on his chest stops him, scooting him back. “Wha-” 

“Behind the line,” Felix instructs, “Don’ wanna hit you.” Then he turns back towards Avi and rolls his eyes when they try and explain. 

“We do this here so the sun doesn’t get torn apart, it’s training for-” They dodge a spear that seems to come from nowhere. “Ass! I didn’t call go!” 

Felix walks over and picks up the straight metal weapon, twirling it between his fingers. Where he got it from is a mystery. “You’re in the ring, you get hit! ’S why we have a ring! ‘S why I pushed ‘Pollo _outta_ the ring!” 

“I’m explaining-” Instead of dodging, they block the spear’s stab with a round shield that, also, came out of nowhere. It looks like it’s made from the same metal as the spear, has the same silver shine to it and black detailing to it.

“I’ll ‘splain faster. Stick. Hit. Fight. Done.” He slides right out of the way of Avi, who’s now got a short sword with their shield, keeping the sword pointed out and the shield up, yet mobile, able to deflect the odd angles Felix lazily pokes with his spear. 

Kyros searches the place for a weapons rack that he must have missed them pull things from, but there’s nothing. There’s only the sand floor inside the ring, the endless rows of seats, and the fight in front of him. He sits down closest to the edge as he can, just watching them, more than a bit worried one or both would get hurt. 

Worrying about other people was something new, and he really doesn’t not like the way his gut twists up and sits high in his throat. 

For as impaired as he seemed not long ago, Felix definitely knows how to fight. He still sways and stumbles, but it works in a way, keeping him away from Avi’s sword and managing to put him at the right angle to strike with his spear. 

Avi meanwhile, is incredibly solid. They keep the shield up, and make precise attacks with the shortsword, feet planted in the sand with each blow. It isn’t nearly as fast as Felix’s style, but it makes them almost impossible to hit. 

The metal keeps clanging against each other, and the only words spoken are short swears and huffing breaths, no time for teasing and taunts. Every once and awhile, a blade catches fabric and it rips. Kyros can’t look away. The fights been going maybe a minute, but it feels like hours. Both of them seem like… Normal people. Normal people don’t just know how to fight. He has to remind himself he’s literally on the sun, and that there was some god business he nearly forgotten. Even if he’s trying to shut that all way and focus on how nice it had been to just sit and talk, his normal doesn’t seem to exist anymore.

He blinks, and something’s different. Avi’s different. They were pretty before, sure, but now they’re _overwhelming_ pretty. The way their hair is braided to be kept out of the way, how their eyes almost sparkle, every detail of their skin radiating this aura of beauty. It’s hypnotizing to the point where Kyros barely notices anything else. 

“Hasn’t worked the last 50 times,” Felix drones in a bored tone, staring at Avi. He doesn’t have the same starstruck look Kyros has, he’s just flat out not falling for it. 

“Has too.” Avi takes a second to adjust their shield, panting but not out of breath.

“Has no- OW!” The shield rams right into Felix’s side, and he drops, then rolls out of the way as Avi strikes downwards with their sword. He stands back up a few feet away, looking ready to attack. 

Avi just rolls their shoulders and laughs “See? It works. You let your guard down.” 

Another moment, and Kyros is blinking rapidly. Whatever it was that had made Avi incredibly pretty was gone, leaving them the regular amount of pretty. He could pick up the dark circles under their eyes, the sweat and dirt that covered them, and the smallest cut from on an arm where Felix’s spear had grazed skin. The little imperfections were back. He wants to interrupt, but the fight starts back up again. 

Avi goes for a swing, and instead of dodging or parrying, Felix steps in, nearly chest to chest. The sword glances right off his spear’s handle, metal screeching on metal. And then, without seeming to do anything else, without anything Kyros is fast enough to see, he steps back. But the shield is in his hand. 

He moves to strike again with his spear, but Avi’s call of “DOOONE!” has him freeze and whine.

“Oh c’mon! If you tap, I tap.” 

“You play dirty!” Avi takes their shield back, sword already having vanished. 

“ _You_ play dirty,” Felix parrots and turns away, stretching out, spear idly twirled in hand. 

“Just run spirits if you still need to blow off all that hot air in your head.” The shield is gone, and they come to sit beside Kyros, fixing their draped cloth and admiring a new hole in their pants along the way. 

All of this was getting to be more than a little much again. Not just the fight, or the sun, but just the little things, like how Avi sits _way_ too close. “I think I need some more answers,” he rubs his eyes, keeping them shut for a few seconds. “How he got the shield, how you…” 

“Awwww, did I fluster you?” Avi pats his shoulder. “Remember that tapping god’s power thing? You just saw that in action. I tapped Aphrodite to look that way, it’s a nice way to get him to be still, since Felix’s moves are pretty impossible to predict.” 

 

“But you said your patron’s Athena, that’s how you lean.” 

“Athena’s my patron, yes. She’s easier to tap into. But I _can_ tap into others, everyone can. Your leanings kind of… Shape your skills when you’re not actively tapping into power. But when you tap into power, it’s a bigger boost. I tap Aphrodite, I’m distractingly beautiful. Felix taps Hermes, he’s smoother.” 

Kyros swallows the information the best he can, and looks back at the ring. Felix is still there, and is fighting again. This time, it’s foggy wisps of soldiers. Soon as they’re slashed into with that spear, they disintegrate and fade, only to be replaced with another set. It isn’t hard to put together that this battle simulation was the spirits Avi had mentioned. 

“Speaking of…” They sigh, following Kyros’ gaze. “I’m sorry about him.” 

“He’s not… Too bad, I think,” Kyros thinks for another moment, “I haven’t even seen him sober.” 

“Just give him time to figure out what he’s doing, then it’ll get bad. Right now he’s just doing whatever jumps into that mushy brain, when he actually has a plan he can be dangerous.” It’s a clear warning, but he can’t really tell if they mean Felix is a danger to himself or other people. 

Instead of worrying about it more, he just asks, “he doesn’t know what he’s doing?” 

“He doesn’t know he’s got a crush.” Avi states, as emotionless and blank as possible. 

“Excuseme?” It all comes out one word, Kyros staring at Avi like they grew a second head. 

“A cruuush. On yooou. Don’t feel too special, he’s got some sort of Icarus complex. Goes well with his mother complex. Gets all starry eyed and showboaty.” 

Kyros shakes his head. He didn’t need more today, he really didn’t. “I don’t believe you, he can’t have a crush on me. He has to just be like this all the time, maybe it’s part of being drunk, some people get flir-” 

“Just watch for a second,” Avi stops him from going off on a tangent. “You’ll see it.” 

The soldiers have given way to several lions. One takes a swipe, tearing through Felix’s drape cloth. In a fluid movement, the cloth is all the way off his body leaving him in just pants. His spear twirls in his hand, and comes down with a crack against the lion’s skull, causing it to vanish. Kyros swears he can see a wing on either side of Felix’s spear. 

When the weapon is still for a second, used to block this time, he sees it _does_ have wings. They’re halfway translucent, but there, along with two coiled snakes around his spear. Felix lets a lion bite on the spear’s shaft and then shifts his weight just right, takes just enough of a step, and a second lion crashed into the first, making them both turn to smoke. 

Before the last lion is dispatched by Felix rolling under it and striking upwards, other beasts start to charge from the edges of the red circle. An elephant, horses and their mounts, and lastly a pair of minotaurs. Until now, all the opponents had very much been pretty standard in a fighting ring, but a minotaur? TWO minotaurs? Kyros had heard stories, sure, but seeing one, even a recreation of one… He shudders. Those couldn’t be real. 

One of the calvary notches an arrow, and Kyros feels his heart stop. It doesn’t miss. An arrow lodges in Felix’s chest, and he stills completely, body slacking but still standing. 

“Wait,” Avi squeezes his shoulder, keeping him seated. 

Felix is behind the archer in a second, spear stabbing through its neck and pulled back out. There’s no arrow in his chest, and the fake-Felix is stood still in the middle of the ring, arrow still in his chest. When real-Felix moves to start on the elephant, the fake one vanishes. 

“Woah,” is all Kyros can think to say when he sees lightning strike the elephant so forcefully the beast topples the the side, followed by a wave of fire washing over it. 

“Told you, he’s cruuushing,” Avi releases his shoulder, going back to leaning on him. “Showoff can’t help himself.”

“He’s- that can’t be one god, is he tapping more than one? How’s-?” Kyros fumbles out words, not really getting anywhere, but Avi still gets the point. 

“Yes, he’s tapping more than one. Yes, that’s possible, just very hard. He’s at… Five? Six? Not all of them are so.. Flashy, some are pretty passive, like that move he did with my shield. I’ve seen him get up to thirteen, but he burns out very quickly. The record of anyone ever is twenty, but I’m not sure I believe that.” Avi sounds more than a little jealous. 

“Can you…?” 

“About two, three on a good day. Felix leans Hermes, jack of all trades, it’s so much easier for him to tap more than one.” Avi sounds only slightly jealous. 

 

“But he said-” 

“He’d rather be a drunk than a thief. He’s split right between the two, sort of how you are, but I’d say you lean more Hephaestus than Apollo, but that’s just my guess. Hermes gives him the ability to do… That. Dionysus makes up for any usefulness by being a complete waste of space, and allegedly, making him prone to grabbing for alcoholic vices.” 

Just as Avi had said, Felix does start to slow down pretty soon. He doesn’t even get around to the minotaurs before he calls “OFF,” causing the spirits to vanish. 

He comes over, drenched in sweat and with a smile on his face. Avi snorts and teases, “Amaaaare.” 

“I don’ speak German,” he plops down beside Avi, who switches to leaning onto him instead of Kyros. 

“That’s _Latin_ , which you _do_ speak.” 

Felix shrugs and smiles at Kyros. Kyros, in turn, covers his face. Too much was happening. Avi had gone from somewhat helpful to a teasing prick. Felix had gone… Okay, Felix hadn’t changed at all, but apparently he had a crush, or a complex, and that was too much. Everything jus- 

A gruff, angry voice cuts through his miniature crisis. 

“Felix. Avi. What the _hell_ are you doing up?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: referenced drinking, sexual innuendo.

The room feels frozen, the newly formed trio locked up by the presence of the forth. It’s not hard to be intimidated by someone who’s well over six foot, looks like they could bench press the three of them combined, and has a face like a brick wall. Kyros’ knuckles go white from how tight he’s holding the edge of the seat. Avi straightens up from where they had leaned against Felix. And Felix, in a moment of drunken brilliance, he tries to talk his way out of things. 

“Uh, it’s mornin’? So we’re up.” 

“It’s three-a-fucking-m,” their tone leaves no place to argue. Kyros swears he’s heard that voice before, but can’t place where. “It’s not even daylight and you’re making a fuckton of noise. Literally everyone else is asleep. We have a curfew for a reason.” 

Avi shifts off the bench, firm footed and with a steady voice, the kind of smartsy asskisser uses, “we didn’t want the new guy to wake up alone.” 

“Yeah, poor ‘Pollo’s had enough shit, y’know the fire an’ drownin’. He don’ really need to be all left ‘lone. Remember the whole panic that one tim-” Felix tries to back Avi up, but gets cut off. 

“‘Pollo’?” They repeat, eyes searching until they land on Kyros, who tries to look small as possible. For all the huff and puff, they seem much more exasperated than angry. “You woke him up? You. Woke the new guy up. And apparently didn’t ask his name.” 

“Look-” Avi tries, and is stopped again. 

“I’m looking plenty. You two, get lost-” 

“Oh Gale, y’know I’m good at gettin’ lost-” Felix is grinning, but takes the hint that he needs to stop when he’s given a look that means business. 

Gale. That was the name Felix had been yelling for when carrying Kyros. Gale must be some kind of authority figure, with the attitude and everything, and how Avi and Felix snapped to attention soon as they entered the room. They look maybe ten years older than Kyros, Felix, and Avi, and that was reason enough to be in charge. The stern tone certainly helps, too. They had the sort of voice that just made people listen.

“Get lost in your own rooms without making noise. And you,” Gale turns their attention to Kyros, “it’s not daylight. You just got here. Go back to sleep and don’t listen to whatever these two told you, it’s probably bullshit. I’ll answer everything in the morning, the _actual_ morning.” 

There’s something about being taken away from the first two people he’s had any meaningful interaction with in years that just doesn’t sit right with Kyros. Maybe they were both annoying, and overwhelming, but he didn’t really want to be alone when that became the only option. Didn’t want to be alone if he didn’t have to be. 

Getting the feeling this wasn’t up for debate, he stands slowly, eyes down. He wants to say something, a bye, a see you later, anything to Felix and Avi, but his voice gets lost. Gale gives a last glare to Felix and Avi, and shows him back to his room without another word. It’s a short walk, a quiet one, but it feels like forever. 

“Just get some rest, okay?” The gruffness of Gale’s voice is still very much there, a deep rumble of sorts, but they’ve softened now that Felix and Avi are gone. He just nods and slips inside his room, giving a quiet thanks. 

Now that he’s alone, it hits him just how _empty_ the room is. Kyros doesn’t even feel right calling it his. The only thing he had from home was a set of busted wings and burned clothing, and those were hardly worth keeping. He’s never had much, but the walls are so blank compared to his home on the cliff face, where he drew designs or all natures and little doodles. This place doesn’t feel like a home, doesn’t feel like his. This place is just a room. 

He sits down on the bed and rubs his hands over his face, recounting all that happened. In the end, he chalks it all up to maybe being a bad dream, and maybe he’ll be back in in his own bed come morning. 

Sleep comes easily. Kyros was downright exhausted, and the handful of hours he gets aren’t nearly enough. His hopes for waking up back home aren’t granted, because he finds himself staring up at the blank ceiling come morning. 

For a long moment, he’s not sure why he’s awake. Not until someone knocks on the door again. 

Wiping the crust from his eyes and getting up takes a second, and he doesn’t bother to try and tame his hair. He hasn’t tried in the last twenty odd years, and isn’t about to start now. 

It’s Gale, looking tired, but less so than the prior night. “You’re owed some answers from someone who isn’t fucked in the head.” 

“I-” Kyros yawns and scrubs his face again, “I think that’d help, yeah.” With that, they lead him down the hall, since the room didn’t really have a good sitting space. 

Most of what Gale has to say is a repeat of what Avi and Felix had told him, worded in a more formal way, like a speech repeated many times over. Every once and awhile, there was a new bit of information. 

“I don’t know what those two fucks showed you, but technology here is… Well, it’s different than what mortals have access to. More advanced. It takes some getting used to, but you will adapt quickly,” Gale explains while looking into the lounge room. The black box had moving pictures playing across it, and several people perched in front. 

Now that it wasn’t the middle of the night, people were more plentiful. It wasn’t crowded, but the place was big, and it seemed like more than half the rooms were occupied. Gale tells him that there is technically a curfew, and most people abide by it, but it isn’t strictly enforced unless you cause trouble. 

Felix and Avi clearly cause trouble. 

“I’m still amazed you can find your way around this place,” Kyros says, trying to recall his steps, but not remembering past a few hallways. 

Gale gives a small smile. It’s weird. And unsettling. Kyros wants them to go back to being stone-faced. “Take me to the cafeteria,” they direct their voice to a wall, and the color of the lights change to an off-blue, leading down one hallway. “If you get lost, just ask. The sun’s pretty forgiving.” 

The both of them follow the highlighted path, and Gale continues to monologue information, most of which Kyros starts to tune out. 

The cafeteria is a lot more crowded than the rest of the rooms. People gather around the tables in groups, eating breakfast and starting their days. Many are Kyros’ age or younger, and only a few matching Gale’s age or older. 

Among the crowd, one table is significantly less occupied than the rest, with only two people sitting at it. He pretends not to see one of the two scrambling to get out of his seat, and the other just shaking their head. 

“‘Pollo! ‘Pollo ‘Pollo-” Okay, he really needs to get on telling Felix his name, this is getting a little silly. One or two people turn to look at what the fuss is, but most seem very used to his antics. 

“Go ahead and get food, we will pick back up after. Sit anywhere, anywhere but with those two.” Gale gives his shoulder a little pat and moving off to get their own breakfast at the opposite side of the room. 

There’s no way Kyros is able to avoid Felix as he beelines straight across the room, literally over a table that yells at him for stepping right on beside plates of food, but he’s off the other side before he even notices. “‘Pollo! I thought Gale was gonna toss you off or somethin’ jus’ to get me and Avi to quit stayin’ up late.” 

“Wait, they wouldn’t seriously do that, would they? Am I at risk of being thrown off the sun?” Kyros lets himself be tugged into line and takes a plate when Felix offers it, watching him take one for himself. “And I have a name, y’know.”

Felix shrugs the first part off, focusing on his food. He’s less off balance than before, but keeps blinking and squinting at everything. “Yeah, but I donno it, so you’re ‘Pollo.” 

“Kyros, I don’t have a last name,” he ducks in and out of the line right behind Felix, letting the taller make the opening and take the blame when people complain. 

“Really? Well, if you ever need one, just use Gabbios. It’s mine, but it’s kinda got reputation to it.” Kyros can’t tell if that’s a honest offer from someone who means well, or a backwards form of flirting. Dammit, Avi got him paranoid over this crush nonsense. 

The two get back to the table that Avi dutifully kept occupied, appearing to be muttering to themself. They blink out of it when Felix pushes half his food onto their plate, and then starts looking around the table. “Where’d you put my drink?” 

“Took it, it’s not noon and we had a deal about drinking,” Avi rolls their eyes and nods a greeting to Kyros. 

“It was orange juice,” Felix stops looking and just sits, getting a bite in his mouth before he starts talking again, “and we don’ have a deal. You made some stuff up and I agreed ‘cause we were in front of Gale, and as we all know, nothin’ said in front of Gale is for anythin’ but funsies.” 

“No one keeps orange juice in a flask, don’t bullshit me,” Avi cuts the argument off with that, greeting Kyros properly. “Morning. Sleep well?” 

“Until I got woken up, yeah. It’s Kyros, by the way. Were you talking to someone before we got here?” He’s curious, having seen no one else around to talk to them. 

“Oh, that. Athena was quizzing me,” they shrug and start eating the food Felix unceremoniously dumped on their plate. 

“You can actually talk to her?” Okay, not the weirdest part about all of this. Kyros thinks back to the voice he heard at the forge, and knowing that the gods talked, that meant the voice was probably Hephaestus. 

“Sometimes, when she wants to. Athena isn’t… As vocal, as others. Some gods never shut up.” Avi looks over towards Felix, who was occupying himself with his breakfast. 

He catches sight of the look, still squinting despite the room not being that bright. “What’d I do?” 

“What didn’t you do,” Avi rolls their eyes. 

Before he can get the single word out, Felix starts laughing. “You.” And he continues laughing. Kyros just smiles, focusing back on Avi. 

They ignore it entirely, just nudging Felix. “The theory still accurate?” Felix nods, still breathless from laughter. 

“Theory?” Kyros asks. 

“We’ve got this theory that the gods aren’t actually allowed to talk to each other. They seem to use us to interact with the world, and to some extent, each other. Felix gets to listen into conversations between Hermes and Dionysus-” 

“One says CHUG the other yells STOP IT, I drink to drown ‘em both out. Speakin’ of, my flask.” He makes a demanding grabby hand at Avi, who again starts saying they didn’t take it, and that there’s no way it’s orange juice. 

Kyros thinks that if his two patrons were constantly talking his ears off, he’d be reaching for a bottle, too. He’s lucky Apollo and Hephaestus seem to be the quieter types. 

A few minutes later, a very disappointed Gale makes their way over, shooting glares at Avi and Felix, who both smile innocently. 

“We’re gonna come on the tour, ‘kay Galious? I forgot where some of the stuff is,” Felix clearly planned this, but Avi nods along all the same. Kyros just shrugs when Gale turns to him, not really finding a reason not to let the other two tag along.

And so the tour starts up again, Felix and Avi on either side of Kyros, and Gale leading, pointing things out. 

Felix keeps pulling pieces of food he apparently stashed in a pocket and eating them, speaking with his mouth full when Gale goes quiet for a moment. “Gale leans Ares. Like, way Ares.” Which.. Makes sense. A lot of sense. 

“Swallow first,” Avi elbows him. 

He does, and grins, “I’m good at swa-” 

“NO.” Gale apparently had been listening in, and was displeased. The trio laughs. 

The tour starts to feel a lot less like a lecture, and Kyros finally asks a question that’s been eating at him. “So, we’re these patrons of the gods, does that make us immortal? 

“No,” Gale states shortly. “So don’t try-” 

“I’m immortal.” Felix says with a confidence that makes Avi snicker and Kyros wonder if he got that flask back. 

“You nearly died last week.” Rubbing their face, it’s clear Gale doesn’t want to have this conversation. 

“NEARLY! Exactly. So I’m immortal until proven otherwise,” Felix keeps on walking, not waiting for the others to catch up. 

“Question two,” Kyros starts, jogging right past Gale to be in the lead, but he turns to walk backwards, almost tripping a few times. “Can I learn that tapping thing? Gale, I know you’re saying to take it all slow, and just explore this place, but I want to learn.” 

Mulling it over, and looking at Felix who’s nodding so hard his head might come off, and Avi who’s a second and a half away from opening their mouth, Gale sighs. “I’ll find another Apollo patron, that will make learning easier. And safer.” 

Avi and Felix snicker to each other, and Kyros isn’t entirely sure why. He decides he doesn’t care. Getting to learn what were basically super powers was much more exciting than whatever it was. 

With that, the tour continues on uneventfully, Kyros daydreaming of just what tapping into the power of Apollo might be like.


End file.
